Brave World Girl

Sunday, April 1, 2012

Just in case anyone still comes here- I've been absent for awhile (Has it reached a year yet? Not quite?). Anyways, I've been too busy to really update here. If you didn't know, I have a book out. And a new author blog. And a couple of jobs. And a new book I'm trying to finish/get published.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Having to floss your teeth. Actually showering for the blind date your mother set you up on. That moment of horrible realization when you go to make your morning coffee and realize you've run out of coffee filters.

The worst petty offenders? Getting gas- and pooping.

"Gas went up to $5.25!? Fucking OPEC!"

Scenario: You're on your way to work. You've just left town limits and are singing along to your eclectic mixed CD when you glance at the dashboard and realize the gas light is on. This is a problem, as all the cheap stations were miles back and you know for a fact that the only place in the next ten minutes has a ten dollar surcharge and likes to fuck you in the ass if you don't pay fast enough. Then, as you frantically search around for an alternative, your stomach rumbles. That morning's coffee is coming back to haunt you (shouldn't have gone for cup #3!).

Now you're faced with a high pressure situation- literally.

Birthplace of the Teaparty movement.

You pull up to the station, throw on a pair of over-sized sunglasses and hope no one will recognize you. It's 50 bucks to get your stupid car filled. It would have been forty if you hadn't spent all your cash on three-dollar Margaritas the night before. Meanwhile, you are staring at the little unisex door next to the dumpster and wondering how many hobos have died in there. The law of averages says at least one, and the reality of gas stations states that part of him is still in there.

When you eventually drive away, you do it with a sense of shame and violation. They've hit you where it hurts- in your wallet, and your dignity.

Imagine if you never had to go through this again. Stretch your mind, and entertain the idea that these problems- gas and pooping- might in fact be each other's solutions.

Very soon TOTO, the Japanese toilet company that brought you the talking toilet, will send a man across Japan on a bike that is run on 'biogas.' In other words, shit. The seat on the bike will be a fully functioning toilet, connected to a motor in the back which converts the, ah, waste into fuel. This toilet will, like most traditional TOTO toilets, make noise. It also has a handy new feature where it will read you the stock market ticker or weather reports. If you're interested in the particulars, you can read more at gizmag.com.

At the moment, this is only a promotional stunt in order to raise awareness of bathroom waste.

No, not that kind.

Apparently a shit-run-toilet-bike is the perfect way to educate people about CO2 emissions from bathrooms. I guess it will garner a lot of attention, but not for the reason they may think.

My question is this: how will they do it? Will the rider, complete with poopy-helmet, just pull down his pants at stop lights? Or will he pull to the side of the road and do his business discretely? The potential for this to turn into a political shit storm is just astronomical.

PUN.

Seriously, though. I know this is just a promotional stunt, but this is the kind of technology that could save our futures. Think of the convenience! Think of the lower CO2 emissions! Of course, accident scenes will be significantly more disgusting, and let's not even get started on the hygiene of it all. Perhaps we'll see a resurgence of pink eye in the coming days. But is that too high a price to pay for such renewable energy?

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Dear Weather.com: I have some concerns about your website that I wanted to share with you. I've included them in this letter, along with exemplary pictures, for your convenience. Please don't take this the wrong way- consider it constructive, loving criticism from a friend.

I can tell you're stressing, weather.com. You've probably got some pretty fabulous banner ads in the making, getting ready to prepare us for the storm with your classic combination of hyperbole and hysteria. But- and I know how hard this is for you- try not to get too excited this time. Ophelia will probably drown herself before anything terrible happens.*

I also wanted to point out an error in an advertisement I saw on your site. I think someone got the copy wrong. Don't worry- I corrected it for you!

Finally, I'd like to turn to one of your news stories.

Nice job on the green screen!

Let's look a bit closer at this story's headline:

I hate to be so critical, but to this I can have only one reaction: DURRRRRRRRP!

What, exactly, is the speed of thought, Weather.com? How did you measure it? How, for that matter, are you measuring the melting of the arctic ice? It must be melting pretty quickly to go faster than thought. Say I've had 5 thoughts (scientifically abbreviated to th) during the last 10 seconds. That's a 5th/10s ratio, or 1th/s. The rate of the arctic ice melting is about 1 cm per year, or a 1cm/3,556,926s ratio.** Obviously thoughts move much, much much faster than the speed of melting ice in the arctic circle. My scientific conclusion? Either I'm a genius, or- and I hate to break it to you, Weather.com, since we're such good friends- you may be retarded.

I think the answer to that question is clear.

I dearly hope this letter hasn't ruined our friendship. I'm afraid that there's a chance I've lost your good opinion, but though it hurts, I'll move on. Luckily, my good opinion of you was lost a long time ago!

Sincerely,

BraveWorldGirl.

*Please tell me you get this joke.**Statistics and equations brought to you by the Harold Camping Society for Better Math.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Granted, this could have happened in worse locations- a dunk'n'donuts on the highway, for instance- so I guess I was lucky in that respect. But still. It's galling, and annoying, and mostly I just feel pretty dumb. This meant that I have been stuck in my house all day, and conceivably will continue to be trapped indoors until either (a) someone comes and rescues me, or (b) my mother comes home with her set of keys.

To entertain myself, I decided to do some baking, a hobby I enjoy but rarely have the time/motivation to indulge. Not only was I going to bake, I decided, but I was going to bake something challenging! I decided on Three Pepper Cookies, which are essentially peppery-sweet cookies dipped in chocolate. Here's the recipe, in case you are curious : http://www.yummly.com/recipe/Three_pepper-Spice-Cookies_-Recipezaar

ANYWAYS. On the left hand corner of the top shelf of my spice cabinet, where no-ones been in, oh, years, was a relic of my childhood. It looked like this:

I sort of vaguely remember crafting this racist-Myan ripoff statue in middle school. I think the assignment was to... actually, I have no idea. I can't think of any topic they would give small children that would result in this. Indo-colonialist stereotypes? It's clearly supposed to be some poor South American tribes-person sacrificing to his pagan god.

World, I apologize for this piece of shit.

Yes, that is a skull. I think. *sighs*.

But you know what? Everyone has one weird art project as a child, right?

Right?

I was a strange child.

So I had a big sculpture phase in middle school, ok? Or was it freshman year...
At least this wasn't, you know, blatantly racist. The idea was cool (I thought). It was supposed to look as if you'd picked up a block of water, and then had all the bits of fish swimming around and through it. Except the cube of water looked more like...well, a big heavy box. With penises sticking out of it.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

I could give a whole big paragraph full of excuses about why I haven't updated in, oh, two months. I could go on and on about the minor existential crisis I've had since graduating, working at a discount liquor store, and attempting to face up to the fact that a) I'm not going back to school and b) I need to figure out What To Do With My Life. And the broken computer (several times...), leading to the sexy, sexy new mac currently sitting on my lap. But I won't. You know why?

Because I'm both lazy and shameless.

Instead I'll just jump right back in. I don't know how much I'll be updating or what I'll be updating about. Let's just take this one day at a time.

For the immediate future, I'd like to talk about eggs. Specifically, poached eggs, which are delicious and possibly my favorite way to eat unborn fetuses.

Now, I've poached an egg before. I swear I have. I used to work with an elderly Scicillian man (re: 92 and still driving) who taught me how to do it. Under his tutelage, I managed to poach quite a few- AND THEY WERE DELICIOUS...if a little vinegary.

When a man that old tells you to keep adding vinegar, you listen. It's just possible that he reached such an age by pickling himself, and hey- if it works, it works!

The point is that I used to be quite good at poaching eggs. This morning, however, I had a little difficulty.

See how it's all white and cloudy? That's wrong.

Now, I don't know if you've ever made a poached egg before. It's really not that hard. Basically, you heat water with a bit of vinegar until it is almost- but not quite- simmering. Then you stir the water rapidly, creating a whirlpool that will serve to wrap the egg around itself, keeping it together. Slide in your egg, wait a few minutes, and BAM. Eggy-goodness.

And so we try again!

After mourning my first attempt I decided to give it another go. On the second try, I had a lot more luck. The trick? I turned up the heat until it was just about simmering, and added a lot bit more vinegar.

Look! Look! It stayed together HALLELUJAH.

The delicious final product.

And success! To complete my eggy-masterpiece, I ate it atop buttered sticky rice, as they do in Japan when they feel like a 'Western' breakfast. Yummy yummy in my tummy.

Final note: As I sit writing this, I am listening to Lykke Li's 'I Follow Rivers.' It's a good song- if you haven't heard it, click on my link and listen to it. And if you're very lucky, as I am, there will be a bird outside your window chirping on beat with the song.

Final Note 2: Here we have the screen capture du jour. It comes to us from our friends at Facebook advertising.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Last night I set my laptop charger on fire. No, not in a fit of pyromania- I wouldn't have used my laptop for that, too expensive, durr- but as the result of 6 months of neglect towards the poor thing. Probably should have done something when the wires began showing through the battery. Oh well.

Now I'm on my parent's home computer. It's a goddamn Gateway. Really that's all I need to say.

...

Nah who the fuck am I kidding, I'm totally gonna complain about this piece of crap. It's slow. It's old. It's ugly. It does nothing for society except to serve as a last defense against the tragic loss of internet access that would otherwise be my fate.

HATE.

To bleed off some of my frustration, here are ten things I wish I could do to this big box of shit. Maybe you will find yourself inspired. Let me know if you do- I want pictures.

Without further ado...

1. Turn the monitor into a fish tank. A very small, very ugly fish tank.
2. SET IT ON FIRE.
3. This one is a multi-parter. First, find an enclosed box or desk and drill a hole in the top big enough to fit a bowling ball (failing a desk, you may use a table with a cunningly positioned table cloth to get a similar effect). Next, hollow out your computer monitor and put it over the hole. Place yourself inside the enclosed object and stick your head into the computer. Now comes the fun part. When your roomate/boyfriend/mom comes down into your basement apartment to ask for rent money (again) say solemnly, "Na-ah-ah, You didn't say the magic word!"* Repeat this until they run away screaming.
4. Take it into an empty field and beat it with a baseball bat until it stops moving, ala Office Space.
5. Kick it in the face, then SET IT ON FIRE. AGAIN.
6. Take the tower up to the top of a very tall building. Wait for either a) an enemy or b) an ugly person to walk underneath. Drop it.
7. Doorstop.
8. Keep it set up as though it works, then hide your pot/booze/secret missile codes inside.
9. Dump it on Bill Gate's front lawn, while screaming "YOU DID THIS, YOU BASTARD."
10. Turn it into a toilet.

Again, feel free to borrow- but I want pictures. Unless you chose #10, in which case keep it to yourself.

*Note: This may be replaced with either "Just what do you think you're doing, Dave?" or "You will be deleted!", depending on your particular brand of nerd-dom.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

While cleaning my room the other day, I found an old journal from 5th grade. That was the year I had Mr. Folk, the famous teacher with one fake ear (but was it the right? Or the left? He would never say; I suppose I'll never know). I started flipping through this thing, and I came to one conclusion:

I was a weird little kid.

I thought you might find some of this amusing. So, of course, I'm putting it on my blog. With illustrations. I even left in all the bad grammar and spelling mistakes, because hey- shits funny. You're welcome.

Hopefully you'll be as amused as I was to read them. If not, well I don't really care. Have fun!

#1: Snow, or What the Hell Was I On?

3/23/00

I was very suprised when it snowed on the first day of spring luckily, it didn't stick. It was snowing the size of footballs! Snowing cats and dogs! Pancakes! Giants!...It was a miracle! ...I'm telling you, its this El Nino thing. The guys a complete loony! I don't think there's a loony bin in this side of the GALAXY big enough to hold his nuttiness. The guy must have had a brain transplant were you give away your brain but don't get a replacement!

An Artist's Rendering.

#2: I Was an Anxious Child

4/4/00yesterday, I went to Mc.D. I had heard that they have Furby's at their stores. I was quite pleased. But then I had a thought; WHAt if they didn't have them? I was soon to find out....When we got there the drive through was too crowded so we went inside. The lines were relatively long, but withstandable. The question still remained; Did they have them?

Finally it was our turn. we ordered. I was all tense. Then, to my great releif, i saw the man put in the Furby! i was all excited. The Furby was white with brown spots it has pink and brown ears. I makes a gurgling noise.

PUT IT IN THE F!*%ING BAG, BITCH.

#3: Adventures with Proper Nouns

Date UnknownThe Other day I was over at Emilys house with Kristena. We were going outside to play crocay. When we opened the door we heard a wierd sound like this, "Eeeeooooeee." I peaked my head outside the door and in the Bushes was a racoon! We got really excited and ran to tell Emilys dad. He chased it away. I was really excited! Later on, When I got home I toll my dad. He said that the racoon must have rabies. I got very nervous.